Tuesday, November 17, 2009

A secret location, no dress code.

Underneath a railway arch,
A car park or a disused warehouse.
One night only, blue neon lights.
And a distinct bass throb.

Milling people stand, huddled.
A steaming impatient queue.
Security and cloak rooms,
Apprehension and excitement.

The bass hum now phater.
Built upon with middle and treble.
Lights escape from hidden arenas.
Groups of people meet; great and smile.

Corridors open onto dance floors.
Strobe lights, beats and moving feet.
Musicians play the crowd,
Like a pumping Bavarian accordion.

Luke cold cans of overpriced beer,
Chemical enhancement,
Could be anything.
Hugs and silly hats, laughing faces.

Beats, notes and samples make rhythms,
Moments evolve, drop and decay.
No longer trapped on an Apple Mac.
0's and 1's turned to synaptic pleasure.

Different rooms, different roots,
Different cities, different languages.
Different decades.
The same love for
The electronic.
The digital.
The Dj
The producer.
The dance.

Sunrise at a bus stop.
Ringing ears, in need of a shower.
Milk delivery woman acquaintance.
The real world?


  1. So visual. I was there. Your writing inspires me.

  2. Wow. Made me want to be there.

  3. this is it man, not sure what it is, but this is it.